Stronger Than Me
by lozzieee dreams
Summary: This is a fic about Will Graham. It is borderline Hannigram, but it's fluffy as hell. There is no Hannibal in this fic. I don't think it's very good, myself, but if you like it, then it's a job well done! This is a one-shot, and there will be no follow-ups. Contains alcohol, homoerotic overtones and terrible metaphors. K purely to be safe.


**Hey guys! This is my very, very first Hannibal fanfiction (that I've actually posted, the other two are terrible examples of self-insertion) - and also my first authors note! I've not done them before now because, a) I couldn't figure out how to do them (lets not beat around the bush, I'm a newbie) and, b) I always thought placing my thoughts at the beginning of the story would distract and detract from the story. However, I'm not entirely proud of this fanfiction, and every one I've read has had an author's note, so I figured I'd do one.**

This fic is a songfic, based off of my second favourite original song from the TV show **_Nashville_**** called 'Stronger Than Me', hence the title. Any fans of the show and the song will notice the blatant insertion of lyrics. I don't do songfics often because I don't find them very good when I write them, but I'm taking a chance with this one. It is solely about Will Graham and a night spent drinking and dreaming. It is poorly written and is painfully short. I don't use a beta because I beta my own. So, please tell me any mistakes because then I can kick my beta.**

Anyway; enough of my waffling. Read this shitty fic.

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_It is 11.38pm. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. I'm alone._

Will Graham sat, lonely and completely alone in his empty home. The threadbare armchair beneath his pale body was not comfortable, springs jabbing at his ribs and his thighs through the faded cotton, but he couldn't stand going to bed. He didn't want to close his eyes. Every nights sleep, every snooze, every blink – he was haunted. Haunted by the pictures from scenes gone before, of evenings spent watching and staring, of moments locking eyes and minds. The two fingers of whiskey he'd poured himself three hours ago had turned quickly into three, four fingers; now it was a fist, punching him in the stomach and ripping through his chest, squeezing his heart and making it ache and yearn for something more.

He was walking the line between sanity and insanity, between sober and drunk, between maudlin and melancholy: just killing time between his sins. No, not sins – _sin_. The same one, over and over again. He knew how bad it was for him to go there again – why did he go there? The end was always the same. Each time hurt more, bringing back old tears, but he kept going, kept bringing back those old tears. He rubbed his sweaty, pallid face, nudging his glasses up to rest painfully on his brow, before letting them fall and bruise the bridge of his nose.

_It is 12.54am. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. I'm drunk._

It had been half past nine when he'd got home that evening, the tattoo of the days crime scene still beating against the inside of his eyelids. Two men, slaughtered brutally in the middle of a desolate field, surrounded by heather and gorse; their limbs were splayed so they pointed to each other like God and David, with their chests cracked open to reveal their hearts that had been surely still beating when the deed was done. It would have been poetic, if it hadn't been for the fact that their livers and lungs had been surgically removed. That's where the alcohol had come in, in an attempt to dull the ache inside his head, inside his chest.

Blinking once and pulling his eyes open with some great effort, he swallowed the two mouthfuls of whiskey he had left in one struggling, painful gulp. The bottle on the side was empty, the amber dregs collecting in one place in the bottom due to the slanting of the old table – he had another one in a cupboard in the kitchen, but he didn't want to move. He wanted something stronger anyway. Liquor didn't cut it anymore; it couldn't make those crooked voices and crooked pictures go away. His preferred medicine was far stronger, far more enchanting, far more addictive.

_It is 2.16 am. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. I'm fine._

The new bottle he'd dragged himself to the kitchen for an hour ago was half empty already, the other half swirling around in his stomach like hot coals. He had to work to keep his tired eyes open; the prescription-free glasses sat slightly askew on his nose from his constant face-rubbing, so he slowly took them off. Dropping them into his lap unceremoniously, he quickly forgot they existed.

Why was he alone? He wanted to be alone. Or so he told himself.

_It is 3.40 am. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. I'm broken._

He knew what time it was – vaguely. He knew he was home. But he didn't know if he was Will anymore. He felt like Will was lost the first time they had met, or at least the Will he'd known himself to be. Things felt different now – he felt different now. The sun had begun its rising behind his curtains, throwing the black into midnight blue in an eerie reflection of his own mind; it hurt almost as much as his sin. They both came up when he didn't want them to. He never wanted it; he never had. Darkness, loneliness – they were for him.

Or at least, that's what he told himself. In reality, he didn't want to be alone. He detested it. Not that he wanted to be particularly social either; there were only a handful of people in his life he wanted to be social with, but none of them could comfort him now. He was too far gone for friends and colleagues to save him now, to pull him back from his wanting and his needing. There was only one place he wanted to be, only one person he wanted to be with, one set of arms he wanted to belong in. But it could never happen.

_It is 5.01 am. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham. I'm tired._

He slept roughly in the chair, his lax and lolling hand only just keeping its grip on the scuffed and blunted glass tumbler in his hand. The dogs were asleep around him, snoring gently as they ran through their dreams – none had bothered him since he'd fed them. They were content to leave him alone; sometimes, he wondered if they knew him better than he did. Whiskey dripped slowly onto his carpet, pooling in a stain beside his feet.

Eyes opened to the cold, harsh air; it beat around him, whipping at his exposed arms and legs like an invisible and burning flame. There was snow on the ground but none fell – there were no clouds in the sky. A deep blue, dotted with a sparse scattering of dulled stars, bore down on him from above, and a deep grey littered with footprints bore up from below. Through the trees and fauna that covered the ground, Will heard the crunch of heavy hooves on twigs and snow.

He felt the warm breath on his hand before he saw the giant, black stag. It stood behind him, breathing its hot breath on his shoulders; not hurting him, just breathing. Will's knees were weak from the cold – he could barely stand up, and he could hardly breathe. The frozen air hit his lungs like knives, scratching and clawing up and down his throat in Baltic bursts.

_My name is Will Graham. I don't know what time it is. I don't know where I am, but I'm cold._

It was better off this way. Alone. That's what he would be told, anyway. He could hear the words now, without even asking the questions, without even speaking, without being there. He didn't know why he kept running, why he kept putting his heart and his mind through it. Every night. Every day. But that voice, those eyes, that hair, that mind – it was everything he wasn't, and everything he wanted to be.

He wished he had something stronger; he wished he was stronger. What he wanted was something dark, that made him so high that he couldn't even feel his heart beating, aching, bleeding anymore. He wanted it more than he could say – and so he didn't say. Against the biting cold of the night air and the haunting vision of the empty, snowy woods, Will closed his eyes and woke up in his armchair, the blinding sun pouring through his window: the dawning of a new day that would bring new yearning and new sadness.

_It is 10.32 am. I'm in Wolf Trap, Virginia. My name is Will Graham, and I'm in love._

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**I hope it wasn't too bad. Be gentle - it's my first time. Please tell me what you think; I would if it was me!**


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